Roman (Raleigh Raptors 2) - Page 45

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We’d been just that—friends—for more than two decades, but I wasn’t about to push that point when I’d spent almost every night this week buried inside her.

I lifted my eyebrows, waiting for him to make his point because I had nothing more to say. I wasn’t about to ask his blessing, or even how he felt about my relationship with T. It was none of his damned business, and he’d been the one to fuck things up with her in the first place. He was lucky to be breathing.

“Well, anyway.” He pushed off the table. “Good luck with that. See you on the plane.” He walked away, leaving us staring at each other with confused expressions.

“Well that was anticlimactic,” Hendrix noted. “I fully expected him to demand pistols at dawn or some shit.”

“Weird.” Out of every response I’d planned for—Baker’s immediate acceptance of our relationship hadn’t been one of them. Then again, I’d assumed he’d loved her as much as he’d professed for the last few years, too.

“Maybe he’s already moved on,” Nixon added, nodding toward the bar where Baker was hitting on a tall redhead.

Whether he’d moved on or had simply decided to grow the fuck up didn’t matter to me. He knew I was with Teagan, and he seemed…okay with it.

Maybe shit wasn’t as complicated as my brain had made it out to be.

Maybe it was our turn—Teagan’s and mine—to have everything click into place.

* * *

I parked my car in the garage and hauled my bag inside, dropping it in the mudroom, ditching my suit coat, and kicking off my shoes. Walt rushed over, and I dropped down to give my favorite guy a little love before finding my favorite girl.

She hadn’t answered her text when I’d landed, which told me one of two things. Either she was pissed at me for something I didn’t know about, or she was lost in a painting. Given the fervor with which she’d thrown herself into her work, I was betting on option number two.

The classical music that filled the house grew louder as I climbed the stairs, which told me it was definitely option two. The music she listened to varied with her moods and pieces. Sometimes it was heavy rock, other times moody alternative, and days like today, it was Yo-Yo Ma.

There she was. My heart lurched, rising to a thunderous roar at the sight of her. A messy bun, teal shorts, and a white shirt splotched with paint was the best welcome home I’d ever had from an away game. I leaned on the doorframe and loosened my tie as I watched her work. The canvas wasn’t recognizable yet. It was all swirling blues, and streaks of purple with bursts of white that I knew she’d eventually blend and shape into something breathtaking. It never ceased to amaze me how she could take the ordinary and make it beautiful.

I slipped my cell from my back pocket and called her. The last thing I wanted to do was startle her, but if I didn’t get my arms around her in the next thirty seconds, I was going to die.

Her phone rang, and she paused, smiling softly when she looked at the caller ID. “Hey, you. Did you guys finally land?”

“About an hour ago,” I answered.

She spun around, her eyes wide as she spotted me. “Roman!” She rushed at me.

I swept her into my arms and held her close, breathing in the scent of wet paint and Teagan and home. “Hey, baby.”

She looked up at me with those eyes, and I was fucking lost.

Then our mouths collided in a searing kiss that had no preamble, no soft beginning. It was all tongues and teeth. Over and over, I took her mouth, groaning when she sucked on my tongue.

She undid my tie without breaking the kiss, then started on the buttons of my shirt. Clothes fell to the floor, and within the minute, we were naked and straining, both ravenous for the other. It wasn’t just hunger. I was starved for her, for the connection I felt when I was buried to the hilt inside of her.

“Roman,” she groaned, leaning back against the heavy oak table that held her paints as I sucked a nipple into my mouth. “God, I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” I managed before feasting on the other. “So damned much.”

She gripped my hair as I kissed my way down her body, reacquainting myself with every curve like I’d been gone years instead of days.

I hit my knees and spread her thighs with my hands, then licked into her pussy with deep, wet strokes from opening to clit. There was nothing slow or easy about it—I wanted to feel her come.

“God!” She cried, rocking against my face, riding my tongue as I devoured her.

“I fucking love the way you taste,” I said against her swollen, pink flesh. She was already wet and slick, more than ready for me.


Tags: Samantha Whiskey Raleigh Raptors Romance
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